Reign of the Dead
by Zoomer
Summary: UPDATED. Story 3. Brothers: Part 1. Two brothers, seperated by a city of the undead, but bound together by their memories of each other. Will they be reunited?
1. Soldier

_This is my very first fanfic! It was the first in a series of five short stories I wrote for my high school creative writing class about the events of five different people and how they coped with the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse. I got a B. ) Please feel free to review, honesty is greatly appreciated. _

**Reign of the Dead**

_Stranded and isolated, a lone man is faced with a hard choice._

SOLDIER

Private Eric Tims was awoken to the sound of sirens. Everyone in his barracks in turn jumped out of their bunks as a sergeant came running into the barracks screaming for everyone to get up and get their gear ready. A state of emergency had been declared. Eric quickly put on his fatigues and ran out. As he arrived on the grounds, he could see smoke rising from outside of the base, apparently parts of the city were now on fire. Eric lined up with the rest of his platoon. Lt. Lewiston quickly briefed the men on the current situation. While other soldiers ran around them, as well as hummers driving by, it seemed as if everything around them was in chaos. Lewiston started speaking rapidly and some of what he said couldn't be made out above the sirens or noise of vehicles and soldiers running by and screaming other orders. But from what he heard, it seemed as if it wasn't possible. According to the Lieutenant, the dead were now running mad throughout the city killing at will. Police and National Guard roadblocks were being overrun and estimates say that at least half of the city's population is either dead or among the living dead.

Orders were given and within five minutes Eric was sitting in a covered transport truck with 20 other soldiers leaving the base. The second truck behind them held 20 more men from his unit. Two hummers with mounted machine guns drove on either side of the truck and no more than two minutes after leaving the base, began firing. Occasionally the truck would hit something or drive over something. He wondered what it was, but probably didn't want to know. One of the men near the back of the truck where they could see out started swearing as him and two other soldiers looked out the back. Eric sat deep in the truck near the cab and could not view the outside. He felt the truck turn, then turn again. Then all of a sudden the truck skidded to a stop and everyone in the back flew forward.

"What the hell?" Someone said.

Sgt. Darien stood up and yelled to the cab. "What the hell is going on!"

Just then Eric heard gun fire coming from the cab, then screams. "Shit!" One of the soldiers said and jumped out the back. The truck behind them started honking and Eric could see it backing up fast with one of the hummers. The soldier that jumped out ran after it.

"What's going on?" Someone else said. The truck started shaking and everyone held on to each other. Two other soldiers jumped out the back. Darien yelled for them to get back in, but they were already gone, Eric could hear gunfire and screaming.

"We gotta get outta here!" Ritchie said. Ritchie sat next to Eric and Eric could see the look of fear in his eyes. All of this seemed to happen in a matter of seconds and just as Ritchie said that, hands started grabbing through the covers of the truck trying to get inside. The other hummer had never stopped firing since the truck stopped. The driver in the remaining hummer radioed to Sgt. Darien for everyone to "get the fuck out". Darien ordered everyone to bail. Immediately soldiers started ditching the truck out the back fast. Eric grabbed Ritchie and his M16 and ran towards the back. The hummer stopped firing to reload. Eric and Ritchie were one of the last few still in the truck.

Eric heard the gunner that was reloading yell out, "Look out!" Just then a violent crash threw the truck over on it's side. Eric lost Ritchie's grip and flew into the air. Darkness enveloped him and he blacked out.

Eric awoke slowly from his blackout. He opened his eyes, but it was still dark around him. He realized that he was underneath the truck cover and was lying on concrete. He could smell smoke and slowly crawled out from underneath the cover. The morning light hurt his eyes for a second, but soon he realized that he was in hell. At first it looked like a crowd of people at a park or some type of gathering; with ordinary people in their clothes just walking around or running. It wasn't too dense a crowd, but many were around. But something was different when he looked at their faces. One main thing was that many of them were either severely scarred or beaten or downright pale as death. Soon taking a closer look at their clothes which were apparently ripped or dirty, he realized what he was looking at. The living dead. Then he saw six of them huddled over Ritchie tearing pieces of flesh off of his dead corpse and stuffing it in their mouths like hungry jackals. It was unreal and he knew he had only a few seconds before any of the others saw him and overwhelmed him.

Grabbing a nearby M16, Eric got to his feet and started running. As he ran by the overturned truck which was severely damaged he saw that a semi truck had slammed into them from the side and had smashed into some trees. Three undead could be seen struggling with something from inside the semi's cab. But Eric didn't look long and didn't get far before getting noticed. He heard growls and screams coming from behind him and turned to see six or so chasing him. He wondered where the hell the other truck had gone. He saw Sgt. Darien standing with two other soldiers by the sidewalk, one of them had an M16 in their hand. Eric ran towards them and called out, but when one of the soldiers turned, he saw that his neck had been torn out and was now one of those creatures. So were Darien and the other man. Eric ran the other way cutting through a park as the former soldier dropped the M16 and pursued Eric. He hopped a chain fence and cut across a small park that was situated near the downtown area. He turned to see them just run into it and fall down. Only one managed to crawl over it. He stopped for a second realizing the park was empty. He turned and took aim at one only then realizing what it was, or used to be. He froze for a second. What was chasing him was a teenager, probably no more than 15. But it was either the creature or him. Eric fired four shots in it's chest, but it kept coming. Then he fired two shots to the head and it dropped dead.

Three others crawled over the fence either intentionally or accidentally. But it was all Eric needed to get going again. As he ran across the park, he felt his stomach drop a hundred feet. Swarms of the undead were now running at him from across the opposite side of the park. He turned back to see that the three that were chasing him were now joined by at least 10 others that had found away around the fence. It was happening so fast, Eric didn't know what to do. He saw a line of large trees at the edge of the small park and ran towards them. He slung the M16 around his shoulders and climbed the nearest tree going up as far as he could. He heard growling and screaming coming from below and could see a lot of movement. He went higher up the tree and managed to find an opening in the leaves where he could look out over the park and the nearby streets. The noises from below were inhuman and terrified him. He could catch a look at their faces every now and then. Some were half mutilated others seemed rather normal except for their pale eyes and cringing looks of hate on their faces. The tree, though very thick, shook slightly as they tried to scramble up, but none would get very far. Eric could see that they were not intelligent enough to climb up.

Eric looked out over the streets and could see lots more coming from the city. He saw two cars drive around the undead in the distance. He saw two people be pulled from another car after it hit one and crashed into the side of a building. They were overwhelmed and ripped to pieces. He could hear their screams die off as the victorious creatures had their new meal. An hour passed; then three, then five, soon it was late afternoon. Eric looked up at the sky and saw the sun was well on the other side of the park. He looked down at his watch and saw it was 18:34 hours or 6:34pm. He had been up in the tree for 11 hours. The horde of undead below had grown in number and seemed to fill the small field. "Nice day at the park." Eric said to himself. Hope faded fast. No one could see him in the tree from the air because of the leaves, plus no helicopter had flown overhead in the last 7 hours. His stomach growled with hunger and he was thirsty. Eric situated himself securely up in the tree pretty far, about 30 feet or so above the ground. He sat in an almost natural seat between two trunks where the tree split. He used the strap on the M16 to tie himself around the trunk where he wouldn't fall off. The crowd below had become a loud unison chorus of growls and moans. The tree constantly swayed slightly as they tried to climb. One actually managed to climb up on two branches before falling off. As nightfall came, Eric found that sleep would be impossible. Fear came over him and seemed to drive him mad with paranoia. The sky went dark and the streetlights came on. The ground around him seemed to move in waves as the dead seemed to crowd in the hundreds.

Throughout the night, Eric thought about many things: his family, friends, how the world was coping with this, if there were any other survivors, if someone would rescue him, if he could somehow escape, and one main lingering thought… suicide. Eric was exhausted by morning. He felt weak, hungry, and thirsty. He heard a bird chirp and looked up as a robin looked down at him. He stared at it thinking how lucky it was to have wings and be so small and insignificant. The tree shook again and the bird flew away. Just over a day ago he was a normal soldier in a normal world. Now he was a cast away on a small island in the sea of the dead. He thought of god and if he had done anything to deserve this. He hadn't been an active churchgoer and wondered what it would be like now if he had never joined the military. Perhaps he would be with his family right now hiding out somewhere safe. The tree shook again and knocked him out of his daydream.

"Please let this be a dream… please let this be a dream…" He repeated for ten minutes straight. He tried to will himself awake as this could only be a nightmare. The creatures thundered into frenzy and they jumped and growled and gnawed at the tree to get to him. "Shut up you bastards! Just shut the fuck up!" Eric screamed. "Leave me alone!" They growled and jumped and clawed trying to get to him even more. Eric aimed his M16 down and fired into the crowd below, then stopped. He put the gun between his legs again and rested his head against the tree. "… Just leave me alone…"

As evening approached he prayed. Prayed for forgiveness for the things he had done in life and for what he had to do next. He prayed for his family and for any other survivors out there. He was taught it was a mortal sin to commit suicide, but what other choice did he have? If he waited a week in that tree he would be too weak do go anywhere and he would rather die by his own hand than starve to death or be eaten alive by those below. Eric prayed for a sign, something to show that he might be saved. Another hour went by and when he was done, it was almost dark again. He would wait one more night.

He slept five rocky hours that night. By morning he could see the crowd was larger than the day before. He waited for the sun to rise and give him good light. He checked the strap around his body to make sure he didn't fall after he did what he had to do. He prayed again for a few minutes. When he was done making his peace, he checked his rifle to make sure everything was in place. The gun almost was too long for him to reach the trigger, but he could still reach it. He slowly placed the barrel to his forehead and placed his thumb outside the trigger guard. He hesitated for a moment then placed his thumb on the trigger. He closed his eyes and was going to fire when a bird chirped near him. He brushed the sound away and prepared to fire, when the bird chirped again, this time with a little more persistence. He looked up and saw an angel… or what looked like one. The robin had spread it's wings and was silhouetted by the morning sun. As it flew away he could see what looked like a thick wire behind some leaves. He lowered the M16 slowly and looked closer. He needed to stand up. He carefully set his M16 between his legs and undid the strap. Suddenly he felt naked. The strap had been holding him in place for two days and had been his only security. Now without it, he was free and could fall down if he was not careful. The undead below became agitated even more now that he was moving.

Eric raised himself up slowly; his legs were much weaker since he had been in the tree so long. But he managed to stand up and look at the wire. It was up about 5 or so feet above him and behind some leaves which is why he didn't see it earlier. The wire stretched through the leaves and out towards the street. He was amazed he had not spotted it earlier since he had a clear view of the street. It was a power line, a thick one too. Eric wondered if it was dead. The night before, he remembered, the city had been pitch black. Even the streetlights didn't come on. Quickly, he tied his left arm to one of the large trunks so that if he was shocked off of his feet he wouldn't fall completely out of the tree. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally gathered up enough courage to touch the wire. He pat it quickly once, then a couple times, then held onto it. It was a dead wire and sturdy at that! The wire stretched out across the street to a fire escape on a building. A surge of hope swelled up within him. He found a possible raft off of his island. He realized he was weak, but still strong enough to climb the wire. Plus it was going slightly downward towards the building. He sat back in his seat in the tree looking down at the crowd clustering around it. He had now two choices: either die on the tree, or risk an escape. He closed his eyes and prayed. He would wait for the bird to return. If it did by nightfall he would attempt to escape the next day, if it didn't he would end his life there in the tree. Either way it would be his choice, not the undead's. Eric closed his eyes and thanked god for the ray of hope, then looked to the sky and waited.

THE END


	2. Janitor

**Reign of the Dead**

_As the chaos ensues, a man reflects upon his life before the end. Will he get a second chance?_

JANITOR

"Well, it looks like I just dodged a bullet."

Martin Stackhouse, a 34 year old janitor for the Westmont Memorial Hospital, had just received news that he was ok. Last week, he had accidentally stuck himself with a needle that had been protruding from a trash bag. He immediately had himself checked out for any kind of infection. And now this morning, he had just gotten news from his superior that his tests results were clean. Last week, another janitor had gotten results back from a similar accident; however, he was diagnosed with hepatitis.

"You got lucky. Bill wasn't as fortunate." Greg replied.

Greg was Martin's supervisor. Martin looked at his left forearm where he had gotten stuck. "I guess you could say that. So I'm cleared for work then?"

"Yep, Taylor is in ICU cleaning out the bathrooms. Why don't you go join him, he could use some help. They're having more than enough patients today." Greg pulled an ID card from his desk and handed it to Martin. "New ID cards for the employee elevators."

Martin took it and stood up from his chair opposite Greg's desk. "Thanks Greg." Greg smiled and went back to his computer. Martin left his office and headed for the employee elevators.

The elevator doors opened to the third floor. Nurses and doctors roamed about busily. Greg had been right. It looked like it was going to be a busy day. As Martin walked down the busy hall he heard a scream coming from one of the rooms up ahead. Two nurses and an aid ran into the room. As he passed he could see someone on a bed kicking his feet and thrashing around.

"I can't feel my arm!" He heard the patient yell.

"You're hyperventilating Mr. Bushnell, you need to calm down." One of the nurses said calmly.

Martin could not make out anymore as he passed the room and headed for the bathrooms. When he arrived, he saw what Taylor needed so much help for. Taylor was dressed in protective clothing and was cleaning a pool of blood that was all over the bathroom floor. "Jesus Christ!" Martin gasped.

"Tell me about it." Taylor turned to him. "You better not come in any farther." He wore protective glasses and a mouth cover on his face as well as a hair cap on his head. "Grab yourself some of these clothes and help with the other bathrooms."

"Others?" Martin glanced over to the women's bathroom, but didn't see anything immediately wrong. "There's more?"

Taylor almost slipped as he drained the mop in his bucket. "Almost every one; two more on the south side and a third down the hall, plus a couple of the rooms. Johns and Vic are handling those at the moment."

Martin walked over to a cart that had protective clothing and started putting it on. "What the hell is going on here?"

"I don't know. Looks like an epidemic." Taylor began mopping the floor again. "Ah god…" Taylor saw a piece of something near the toilet. Martin looked over as Taylor scooped it up. "Looks like someone barfed up part of his stomach."

Martin looked away and tried to focus on not throwing up himself. He looked down at his watch. It was 7:24am. He heard a nurse ask to watch out has she brought another patient through on a bed from the ER. As they passed him, he could see that patient had a bandage over his neck and arm and was really pale. He sighed as they disappeared into a room down the hall. It was going to be a long day.

Martin began work on the bathroom down the hall. It took nearly three hours to soak up the thick blood and pieces of flesh on the floor. _What the hell could've caused this?_ Martin thought to himself. Around noon, Martin had cleaned out one bathroom and had begun on another. In the five or so hours of working, Martin saw at least four body bags go by him. Corpses it would seem. Martin began feeling nervous. If it was an outbreak of some disease, he wondered if the protective clothing he wore would be enough. So far, none of the nurses, doctors, or aids seemed to be dropping dead so maybe he was alright. Around 1pm, Taylor came over to him with Johns who had finished cleaning up one of the rooms and asked if he wanted to go to lunch. Martin agreed and they left to get cleaned up. Johns took over and started working on the bathroom.

Martin and Taylor ate lunch in the cafeteria. The dining area was large and almost full of people. Martin looked at the food selection and felt disgusted. After cleaning up human blood and feces for almost six hours, he did not feel hungry at all. Taylor hadn't lost his appetite and grabbed two slices of pizza, a couple fried mozzarella sticks, a piece of chicken, and an apple. Taylor was a skinny 29 year old man. Martin often wondered how someone who ate the way Taylor did stayed thin. Martin wasn't exactly fat himself, but he had a grown a little bit around the waist more than he would of liked. Martin paid for a soda and they both went to find a seat in the cafeteria. As Taylor stuffed his face, Martin glanced over to a TV that was on the wall. The local news was telling a story of riots that were happening downtown. The National Guard had been called in to assist police in containing the situation. It was hard to make out what the anchorwoman was saying because the TV volume was low and talking in the cafeteria was loud. But he made out a few key words that were alarming: "epidemic" and "outbreak".

"Oh my god." Martin said upon hearing this.

Taylor looked up. "What is it?"

"I think the news is saying that a disease has spread through the city." Martin stared at the screen straining to hear what the news was saying.

Taylor looked up at the TV. Images of people running through the streets and attacking others were flashing on the screen. He went back to his eating. "They're probably just pissed because they just passed that expensive highway toll act yesterday." As he began finishing off his mozzarella sticks he heard a woman's loud gasp and a cup shatter on the ground.

"What the hell?" Martin said.

Taylor looked up and saw that other people were looking at all the TV screens. He joined their gaze and saw the unbelievable. The TV screen showed what look liked a person stuffing food in his face. But it wasn't barbecue chicken. The camera panned down as to reveal what the person's meal was. A dead human! "What the hell?" Taylor said. The camera spun around as a group of people ran straight into it knocking it over on it's side.

"Turn it up!" Someone yelled.

Someone turned up the TV. The anchorwoman was talking over the image. "We… we seem to have lost contact with Aaron." All you could see was feet clustered around the camera which was on it's side on the ground. The image went back to the anchorwoman in the studio. She shifted uncomfortably in her seat.   
"Um, we're just getting word now that… that some National Guard roadblocks have been overrun..."

A scream came from the other end of the cafeteria near one of the main halls. Everyone turned and saw a woman run into the cafeteria. Some more screams came from the hall and Martin could see people running. People in the cafeteria started becoming restless. Just then a man ran in screaming from the hall and tackled the nearest person in the cafeteria. Some women started screaming and ran out. Martin got up and ran over towards the two wrestling on the ground. Taylor joined him as they pulled the attacker away. Martin helped the man who had been attacked, while Taylor and another man held the attacker down. Blood poured from the man's throat as Martin put some paper towels over it. "Someone call a doctor!" Martin screamed. But most of the other patrons were scrambling out of the cafeteria.

A man screamed and Martin looked to see what happened. It was biting other man's arm. Taylor punched the man that was biting, but it wasn't doing anything. The man tore off flesh from the man's arm and started chewing it. The man let go which caused the cannibal to get loose from Taylor. It ran off chasing after a crowd of people that were escaping through the cafeteria. Martin looked down at the man who had been bit in the neck and saw him just stare up in a blank state. He checked his pulse, but felt nothing. "This one's gone."

Martin turned his attention to the other man who got bit on the arm. Taylor used a piece of cloth to tie a tight tourniquet above the bite wound. Then placed another piece of cloth over the wound. The man winced as he did. "You'll live." Taylor said as they stood up. When they did, Taylor looked behind Martin and saw that the man that was attacked was standing with them, but facing the other way. "I thought you said he was dead." Taylor said motioning towards the other man.

Martin turned and saw that he was standing and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, bud, you all right?" The man spun around and Martin stepped back realizing how right he had been. The man pounced on Martin and both fell to the ground. Martin held his shoulders back as the man started biting the air trying to get to him. His neck wound was still bleeding and now was drenching Martin's shirt in blood. "Christ, get him off me!"

The other two tore the man off of Martin, but then it spun around and sunk it's teeth into Taylor's left shoulder. He screamed out in pain as it started gnawing on his shoulder. Martin tried pulling it off of him, but it wouldn't budge. He frantically looked around for something. He saw a knife on a nearby table. He picked it up and shoved it through the back of the attacker's head. It dropped instantly to the floor releasing Taylor. Taylor stood there clutching his bleeding shoulder staring down in disbelief. "You… you killed him…"

"He was dead." Martin said.

"Well he is now." Taylor argued.

"No, he _was_." Martin thought for a second, and then tried to correct himself. "Or is..." He hesitated again. He _was_ dead that was sure. Martin wasn't a doctor or nurse, but he knew how to check for a pulse and that man had none. "I mean was the _whole_ time." He looked at Taylor's wound. "How bad is it?"

Taylor tore another part of his shirt and covered it over the wound. "As bad as it looked, it's not too deep."

They looked around realizing that the whole cafeteria was empty except the three of them. Martin looked to the TV, but saw an empty anchor desk where the anchorwoman was sitting. The words "LIVE" appeared on the upper right of the screen. "I think it's time to leave." Martin said. They heard growling from the west entrance and looked to see five or so of those "cannibals" looking over. "It's time to leave _now_." As the three of them ran out, Martin could see that the five were now joined by a whole bunch more. How could so many be turned so quickly? But it didn't matter, they were out of the cafeteria and running down the hall to the east wing parking garage.

"We're never going to make it." Taylor said 30 minutes later.

The three of them were speeding down Third Avenue trying to avoid the groups of undead that now roamed everywhere. Martin's 1996 Jeep Cherokee slammed into another walking corpse and ran it over. Mike exhaled. "I don't feel so hot."

"Just hang on," Martin said. "…we'll get out. The radio said that the highway was still clear of infestation."

Taylor looked back at Mike, the other man who had been bit on the arm. "How's your arm?" Taylor asked.

Mike showed him it removing the cloth that was covering it. It was swollen, pale, and looked infected. "It hurts like hell. I can't feel my whole arm."

"How you doing Taylor?" Martin asked while turning right on 134 Street. He was heading for the highway and hopefully it would be clear. From there they could make it out of the metropolitan area.

Taylor shifted in his seat. "I feel weak. But other than that I'm fine. It's weird…"

"What is?"

"I don't really feel the wound."

Martin frowned as he sped passed an overturned bus. Then he saw it, the highway. It was straight ahead. He could see cars and trucks moving quickly on it. They were almost there. "Look! See, I told you." Martin said pointing. Taylor followed his gaze. "Home free."

"Watch out!" Mike screamed, but it was too late. One of the creatures had run out into the street in front of the Cherokee. The body flew onto the hood smashing the windshield. Martin was blinded as his line of sight was now obstructed by splintered glass. He heard a loud pop and felt the Cherokee jerk left. One of the tires must've blown out. _Out of all the damn times…_ He thought, before the Jeep lost control and rolled end over end for what seemed like an eternity.

Martin's life flashed before him. He remembered living with his mother in their small apartment when he was 10, the time he graduated from high school and how his mother was so proud of him, meeting Carrie in college and falling in love, graduating with a degree in computer science, getting his first job with a computer company and promising a good life for Carrie. Then he saw his decline. The things he regretted and which he would now never have a chance to redeem; working late hours and ignoring Carrie, losing his job to a corporate buyout, not being able to find another job for five years, arguing with Carrie over money problems and hitting her once, losing their house, Carrie leaving him, his mother dying of cancer, and his problems with alcohol. And now, as he felt himself ejected from the car, another chapter was finally coming to an end in the sad tale of his life. The final chapter.

Martin flew through some bushes along the side of the road and hit the ground hard, rolling down into a gutter by the entrance ramp to the highway. He heard a snap as he did and felt sharp pain coming from his ankle. He tried to scream out, but the air was knocked out of his body by the impact. He heard loud crashing as he could see the Cherokee roll over next to him 15 feet away and rest upside down against a steel road guard. Martin tried to move, but had no strength. He lied there for a while before attempting to move again. This time he was able to. He scanned the area around him and saw no immediate threats; but that didn't mean that no one or no_thing_ saw them. He got to his feet and limped painfully over to the Jeep. He looked underneath and saw Taylor twisted upside down.

"Taylor?" He said softly. "Taylor can you hear me?"

Taylor awoke slowly and tried to move. When he did he cried out in pain and clutched his legs. "My legs… I think they're broken." Martin looked in the back and saw Mike upside down, his head was twisted and was almost facing the opposite direction. He was dead. "How's Mike?" Taylor asked.

"Dead."

"Oh shit." Taylor said struggling to remove his seatbelt.

"I don't think he's going to turn. He would have already if he was going to." Martin limped to the passenger side door and pried it open. He pulled Taylor out and dragged him down the small embankment along the highway entrance ramp. The cars on the bridge above them raced by as if nothing was wrong. They came to a stop about 50 feet away from the overturned Cherokee. Martin sat down to rest. His ankle hurt real badly and he was out of strength. He saw as three of the creatures ran to the Cherokee and started grabbing and crawling around inside, no doubt they were feasting on Mike. Another looked over at him and Taylor. Even at this distance, Martin could easily see that half of it's left cheek was missing. His heart skipped a beat as he thought it would rush them, but it turned away and joined the others at the wrecked Cherokee.

"…Go…" Taylor said weakly.

"What?"

"I said go." Taylor sat up. He was pale all over with dark spots around his eyes. Martin could easily have mistaken him for one of them if he hadn't known. "I can feel it happening."

"What's happening?" Martin asked.

"I'm turning… into one of them." Taylor looked at his legs. "I can't walk and I'm sure it won't take long for those things to come down here and get us."

"My ankle is shot. I can't just run away." Taylor had been Martin's only friend ever since he got the job at the hospital four months ago. He helped him get back on his feet a few times when he felt depressed. Living alone was so depressing. No friends or family. Everyone he had once cared about had left ever since he became an abusive alcoholic. All he could do was drink when Carrie left, even more than before. He contemplated suicide more than once, even coming close last week after being accidentally stuck with an unknown needle. But Taylor saved him, talked him out of it. And now, Taylor was going to try to save him again, but Martin wouldn't have it. Taylor tried to talk him out of staying. "I said I'm not leaving." Martin replied. But Taylor convinced him otherwise, as he did before.

Martin stood up slowly as Taylor began losing consciousness. "Don't give up man." Taylor smiled then lost consciousness.

Martin took off his coat and laid it down over Taylor's chest. He looked around as he slowly started limping away. He tasted blood mixed with sweat on his lips. He felt his forehead and realized he had been cut just above the hairline. He tore a piece off of his shirt and dabbed the blood that was coming down the right side of his face. He limped for about a 30 yards before being spotted by a couple of the undead. He limped as fast as he could towards the highway. He saw a pickup truck parked along the shoulder and started waving his arms and yelling at them. He could see a couple men in the back talking. They weren't undead either. They didn't hear his voice, because the cars on the highway overpowered Martin's voice at that distance. But he had a chance. He wasn't about to give up. Martin felt a surge of hope and realized that he had been given a second chance. His life was about to change and for the better. No longer would he drink and be depressed. He would start over, be the man he once was, maybe even call Carrie and apologize. Something he's been too afraid to do since she left. He heard the creatures closing in behind him, but they were too far away. He would easily make it to the highway before they got him. He saw one of men in the pickup truck pull out a rifle as they saw him coming. He smiled, he was about to be saved again. This wasn't the final chapter, but the first in a brand new story. The man fired. A sharp pain hit Martin in the stomach and he fell to his knees. He looked down and realized that _he_ had been shot!

"Yeah!" The man yelled. "I got another one!"

Martin looked up in disbelief and tried to yell out. He opened his mouth and screamed, but nothing came out. Blood poured from the bullet hole in his stomach. He knelt there with his mouth open trying to comprehend what had just happened when another shot hit him in the chest and he spun around onto the ground face down.

"The head you idiot!" Martin could hear another man yell. "They only die if you hit them in the head!"

"That one looks dead to me." The man with the gun replied.

Martin heard more gunshots as the man apparently was shooting at the incoming creatures that were now almost on top of him. "Let's get out of here." Another man said. Martin heard doors shut to the pickup truck and drive off. Martin heard the footsteps of the others as they mobbed him. He barely felt the pain as they began biting his arms and legs. He felt teeth clamp onto the back of his neck and tear flesh off of it.

Martin Stackhouse dodged a bullet that day, but only to step into another. That was the last thing he thought of before darkness enveloped him forever.

THE END

_For some reason, this story just didn't seem to feel right as some of the other one's did no matter how I changed it. So I left it pretty much intact as I did when I first wrote it. We needed five shorts and this was the last one I wrote. I procrastinated and wrote it the night before I had to turn it in and placed it second in the order. :P Which is why it might seem a little rushed. Please feel free to tell me what you think and thanks for the reviews! _


	3. Brothers: Part 1

_Since I no longer have to worry about a maximum word count limit, I have added a bit more to this story than I originally had. Stuff I left out for length reasons, but can now put back in. Because of this, Part 2 might be a little bit longer than Part 1. Hope you like it! I'll try to update again soon. :)_

**Reign of the Dead**

BROTHERS

Part 1

He no longer had time to wait for his brother. People were screaming everywhere. How it got this bad, this fast, was beyond him. This was supposed to be a safe haven. What the hell happened? He ran for the helicopter, but soldiers were shooting anyone that got near it. A few more people that were initially boarding hopped on the chopper, than the soldiers that were shooting people jumped on as well. It rose into the air and began soaring over the east wall. He climbed up on the hood of a transport truck and then climbed on to the roof of it. He looked down into the frantic crowd and could see who was human and who was monster. More of the things came running out of the large tents that were being set up as medical treatment areas. Some looked like patients; others were doctors and soldiers, newly changed. He heard a growl from below and saw as one was scrambling up the hood trying to get to him. He turned and ran down the opposite length of the truck climbing up to a balcony overlooking the courtyard. The crowd was thinning out as people ran out the front gate. As he ran he saw what looked like a soldier running towards him, but the closer he got the more he saw that it wasn't. He quickly jumped over the railing to another truck below, then onto the ground. He saw a dead soldier on the ground and ran over to him. He removed the dead soldier's Beretta, a clip, and then started running again. As he ran towards the east gate he checked the gun to see if the clip inside had bullets and it did. He stuffed the extra clip in his pocket and ran out the gate. He frantically looked left and right searching for something to escape in. He saw people and the monsters chasing them. He saw a parking lot across the road and ran for it. One of the monsters was running straight at him. He tried to go around, but it matched his movements as it charged him from the front. He had no choice but to shoot. Two shots in the chest did nothing. He got to one knee quickly taking aim and fired three more times for the head. The monster was hit in the forehead and dropped to the ground. Six years… Six years since he had fired a gun. He got up and started running towards the nearest car. He was about to commit another crime. Not even three weeks since he had gotten out of jail. But he needed to go; he needed to find his brother. He had just begun to heal the rift between them. He looked forward to starting over and spending plenty of time making a new life for himself now that he and his brother were finally talking. But unfortunately for Keenan, time was about to run out.

April 11, 1964 – Charleston, South Carolina

He had been anxious all day. He was upset his father wasn't there; as if he cared enough anyways. But he was there for his mom. He always would be. The nurse called over to him to get up. He was excited and wanted to see so badly, but was told that he had to wait for his mommy to start feeling better since it was so hard for her. He didn't understand why she was sick, but the nurse said that his mom needed some time to rest. He took the nurse's hand as she led him to a large glass wall. There he looked inside. There were many others around, but he couldn't see which one. "Where?" He asked impatiently.

"Right there in the front. Here, the other nurse will hold him up." The nurse said smiling. She waved for the other nurse to come and when she did, he could see clearly. He smiled and looked up at the nurse while pointing to the other nurse in the nursery holding the baby. She nodded her head. "That's right Kenneth. That's your new baby brother. His name is Keenan."

May 9, 2004 – Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Kenneth sat on the chair holding his arm the woman had just patched up. He watched one of the large televisions with one of the survivors he ran into as well as two security guards as a reporter was questioning a military officer about what people who are watching should do. The man answered as soldiers and cameramen behind them helped or were filming wounded people being removed from trucks. "… What I would suggest is that you come to Fort Pastor and if you can't make it here we have multiple search and rescue teams out there and they _will_ find you."

"My brother's there." Kenneth said smiling slightly. "He's waiting for me."

The TV image shot to a woman being removed from the truck, it looked like her right eye was missing. Kenneth's moment of hope soon faded as he had a dark sense of foreboding about what was going to happen. He thought of his brother and if he had made it there. Kenneth should have kept going; he shouldn't have stopped to help that woman. He could be at Fort Pastor right now with his brother, planning their next move instead of here with a couple of strangers and three idiot security guards that held them there. He and his brother were always tough, but together, they were unstoppable. Kenneth remembered when they were younger. A time before everything turned bad between them.

September 24, 1968 – Charleston, South Carolina

Keenan was crying as Kenneth rocked him back and forth. His eyes were red and watery, but he held back the tears. He tried singing to Keenan the way his mom had, but it just wasn't the same. But he had to be strong for his brother, because now he was his responsibility. He remembered what his mother had said just before she died. His eyes full of tears and holding a tight grip on her hand. She asked him to take care of Keenan and to look out for him. She said she loved them both very much and that no matter what, to stay together. Together they were strong and could watch out for each other. So much she had wanted to say, but her time was up. She closed her eyes for the last time. Kenneth looked up from Keenan who was just now starting to settle down. He saw a nurse wheel his mom out of the room and down the hall.

Another nurse knelt down next to the newly orphaned brothers. "It's time to go now ok?" She said softly.

"What about mom?" Kenneth asked.

She looked down sympathetically, then back up. "We're going to put her in a safe place for now."

"She liked the ocean. Maybe you could bury her by the ocean." Kenneth said sniffing back tears.

The nurse wiped some tears from her own eyes. "I'm sure she would like that."

She gently picked up Keenan and the three of them walked down the opposite hall. Kenneth looked back one last time as he saw the nurse turn and wheel his mom down another hallway. "Goodbye mommy." Kenneth said as they made their turn for the elevator.

June 12, 1976 – Atlanta, Georgia

"Pick and roll Kenny! Pick and roll!" Someone yelled.

Kenneth quickly stepped up to Keenan's defenseman. The kid ran into Kenneth's brick wall pick and fell down. Kenneth's defender was confused and began guarding Keenan which gave Kenneth his chance. He broke for the paint. Keenan saw him move and quickly tossed him the basketball right in between two other defenders. Kenneth quickly grabbed it and tossed it up for the winning lay up. "Yeah boy!" Keenan yelled jumping up in the air with excitement. "That's game!"

Kenneth walked over and gave his brother a high-five. "You know you're the taller one. You should have been the one that went in."

Keenan smiled. "Yeah, but you're so…" Keenan held out his arms mimicking a fat guy. "Um… Strong."

Kenneth smiled and pushed him teasingly. "Good choice of words." Kenneth wasn't fat, but wasn't as skinny as Keenan was. Keenan grew tall fast in the last three years. At twelve years old, he was clearly the tallest kid in his class at about 5'9". Still, not as tall or muscular as some of the other older players, but well enough to handle his game against them.

"Hey!" One of the players on the opposite team yelled. "What the hell was that? He pushed me!" It was the kid Kenneth had picked.

"It's called a pick. Hello?" Keenan said.

"It's called a foul, you ass! Do over." The large black kid said walking up to Keenan.

Keenan trash talked a lot, and more often than not, Kenneth had to bail him out. Kenneth held out his hand trying to avert the confrontation. "Relax, it's just a game. How about a rematch?"

"Naw! Screw that. Do over. You fouled me." The kid said now standing nose to nose with Kenneth. "And this time tell that skinny little bitch to sit out! He was hand checking me the whole game."

"What'd you say?" Kenneth said in a firm threatening tone.

The other kid hesitated for a second, but then came back. "You heard me nigga." He said standing face to face with Kenneth and pointing at Keenan. "Tell your _bitch_ to sit this one out, or do you need to go home and cry to your mama?" The kid smiled. "She's at my place if you need her." He hardly finished his sentence before he was blown off of his feet by Kenneth's punch. The kid's friends immediately jumped off of the nearby picnic table which they were resting on and pounced on Kenneth. Keenan and their friends joined the fight and soon a giant brawl was taking place on the urban basketball court.

Curses were said, punches were exchanged, and bruises were a plenty. Kenneth got backed into a chain fence while two large kids started punching him. Keenan ran over and threw the basketball dead in one's face. "Booyah!" Keenan yelled. The kid fell down clutching his bleeding nose and started crying. Keenan helped Kenneth fight off the other one, before they were both pounced on by some other kids. The fight lasted for a few minutes before Kenneth and Keenan managed to fight off the two largest guys together. Keenan grabbed one of the kid's wallets and yanked some cash out of it. "It's payday bi'atch!" He said laughing as they ran off.

A few minutes later, Kenneth and Keenan were sitting at an ice cream stand a couple blocks away eating vanilla ice cream with bruises all over their faces and arms. A "just" reward for winning a decisive battle. "You shouldn't have taken his money." Kenneth said.

"They deserved it. They were all just jealous of our skills." Keenan said as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. It was getting darker out now and the two needed to head back to their foster parents.

"We should get back." Kenneth said finishing his ice cream.

"Why? They're not our parents. Besides, we don't need anyone but ourselves." He held out his ice cream attempting to make a point. "Look. We always take care of each other. And we always win."

"I might not be here some day. Who's going to take care of you then if not someone responsible?"

Keenan frowned. Kenneth was ruining his good feeling. "You sound like Rachel." Rachel was their foster mother. Kenneth just glared at him. Keenan looked at Kenneth realizing his seriousness, then nodded. "Oh, all right." He took another bite of his ice cream, and then mimicked a silly voice. "I'll be nice."

Kenneth smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on bro. Let's go home."

When they got home the police were waiting there. They questioned the boys and said that another kid claimed he was attacked and robbed by them both. Kenneth took the blame for starting it despite what Keenan said. Kenneth was taken away by the policemen to juvenile hall for two weeks. He tried to apologize to his foster parents when he returned, but it was no use. He was branded as a troublesome child and was sent away to military school for his senior year. Separated from his brother and many miles away, the two slowly drifted apart in different directions. The ordeal had changed Kenneth. Kenneth was drawn into the military, while Keenan began a life of crime. A year went by. He would write home, but Keenan began reading his letters less and less. Soon Kenneth was getting his mail returned to him unopened. Four more years passed by before they would see each other again. And neither brother would recognize the other.

May 10, 2004 – Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Keenan drove the 2001 Chevy Impala slowly down the neighborhood about an hour after he had escaped the hell that was once Fort Pastor. He cautiously looked around for any of the monsters that might be wandering around, but didn't see any. He drove down the road about half a mile before reaching Kenneth's house. He saw Kenneth's car there, but no police cruiser which worried him. Kenneth had been at work when everything went down. When Kenneth came busting in Keenan's apartment telling him to get dressed, they drove off in his police car. But Keenan had to know for sure. He parked the stolen car in the driveway and got out.

He quietly shut the car door and walked up to the front door. He tried to open it, but it was locked. He looked around, but saw nobody. The street was unusually quiet. Not that he would know what was usual in a nice neighborhood like this. He had spent most of his life in the city, or jail. He knocked on the door hoping only Kenneth, if anyone, was inside the house. But no one answered. He looked around again, then took a step back and tried ramming the door. But nothing happened. _He's a police officer. I'm sure he knows how to lock a door from a break-in. _ He closed the outer screen door and walked around back. He got to the back sliding door which was thankfully out of view from the street. He found a rock and removed his jacket, wrapping it around the rock. Then he carefully broke the window to the kitchen that was next to the back door. The glass broke making more nose than he would have wanted. He climbed in and began looking around. Kenneth wasn't in the house obviously. But as a cop, he might have some weapons around that Keenan could use. Keenan looked around the different rooms, dining room, living room, both bathrooms, guest room, hallway closet, and kitchen. He checked all the places people usually hide things to keep safe. As a former burglar he was experienced in this.

When he was finished he looked around at what he had done. Coushins overturned, drawers emptied on the floor, closets ransacked. This was wrong. It felt like he was robbing his brother's home. In a way this was true, but given the current situation, he had no other choice. But wasn't this always what he used as an excuse to not feel guilty? _I had no other choice._ Now, standing among his brother's possessions scattered all over the place, he felt the sting of guilt. Depression overcame him as hope faded. Kenneth was gone. This was the end of the world. The chosen had been taken to heaven while the damned were left on earth to rot with nothing but the rubble of their doings. Keenan sat down, lost in what to do next.

"_You're on your own now."_ Keenan remembered Kenneth saying once. _"You're a strong kid. You always have been."_

"You taught me that." Keenan said out loud, mimicking what he said all those years ago.

"_Don't quit just because something doesn't quite work out the way you want it to. It takes hard work to achieve your goals, sacrifices as well. And you have to accept the fact that not everything will turn out the way you want it to. That's life. Believe me I know."_

Keenan looked over to Kenneth. "But you'll be there in case something really bad happens right?" He said, again mimicking their old conversation.

"_If not in person, then here…" _Kenneth pointed to Keenan's head. _"…and here."_ He then pointed to his heart.

Keenan looked down to where Kenneth was pointing, and then back up. Kenneth was gone. Keenan stood up with a renewed sense of purpose. "I should have listened to you a long time ago brother." He said to the empty room. "What a fool I've been."

He left the living room and headed for the final room. Normally, if no one was home he would have searched here first, but had been avoiding this room on purpose. He entered Kenneth's bedroom and the first place he looked he found what he wanted. A 9mm Tactical Smith & Wesson pistol with four 8-shot magazines. He pulled out the clip that was in the gun and checked to see if there was a round in the chamber. Then slapped it back in and stuck it in his pocket along with the extra clips. The weight of two guns and a few clips made his baggy pants droop down. He found a belt and buckled it tight around his skinny waist. As he finished he heard a loud bang come from the front door, then another. The sound made his heart skip a beat. Soon more bangs came from the front. He quietly walked to the guest bedroom which faced the front of the house and peeked out the curtains of the window. A small group of those monsters were banging on the front door. A couple more were lingering by the Impala.

"Shit." He said quietly.

Down the street he could see more walking slowly towards the house.

"Where the hell did they come from?" He whispered.

He quietly walked to the garage which was connected to the house. All that separated him from the undead was a flimsy garage door. But they were still banging at the front door. He quietly looked around for something else to use as a weapon. Hell, maybe even a machine gun. Kenneth used to be in the military before becoming a policeman. Then he found something even better. In the corner covered in an old tarp was something he thought wasn't possible. He removed the tarp and saw it. An early 90's Harley Davidson motorcycle. "Son of a bitch..." He said to himself. "He did keep it." He looked at the mileage. It showed over 200 miles. "Son of a bitch… He _did_ drive it." Keenan had bought it for him saying it was a present for getting better after his injury in the Gulf. Kenneth soon found out it had been stolen and had not been bought legally like Keenan had said. Kenneth angrily told Keenan that he would turn it in and never ride it. But this was before the 'incident' that happened between them. Maybe Kenneth felt guilty and kept it anyway. In either case, it was here now and it might save Keenan's life.

The bike looked in good condition. Kenneth must have taken care of it. He quickly ran back into the house and looked for the keys which he found in Kenneth's bedroom on a key ring. He went back into the garage and situated the bike in the middle. There was one last place he could look for his brother. He had tried the phones, but they were dead. Either way, he had to leave. He started the bike revving it up to make the engine warm. It would have to be fast. He got off the bike and hit the garage door button. The door rose slowly. Luckily, the monsters weren't all crowded around it. Two immediately looked in his direction, Keenan gunned the throttle and the bike took off with amazing speed. He zoomed passed the two monsters by the Impala before they had a chance to attack him. He drove down the road, quickly putting distance between him and the house. He glanced in the side mirror to see them running inside Kenneth's garage.

Though the bike had saved his life there, it wasn't the safest of vehicles. He could easily be overwhelmed if he wasn't careful. He turned right heading for the main road out of the housing complex. Keenan would have gone there first, but Kenneth's house was much closer. Now he wished he would have gone to Vanessa's house first. She may have been Kenneth's ex-wife, but Kenneth still felt something for her. It was obviously true since he told Keenan to go with the others to Fort Pastor while he went back for her.

"_I have to see if she's ok. I won't leave anyone else behind anymore…" _Kenneth had said.

Keenan hoped he wasn't too late as he took a left down another street and headed for his next destination.

TO BE CONTINUED…


End file.
